Here We go again. The uppercase is for You, Emmanuel. Because You're WithBeforeAboveBehindBesideAroundTheGroundBeneathInside me.

When the dust settles again, just let me sing hallelujah still.Even if it's a cold and broken whimper.

You...I must have You!If nothing else in this worldI must have You.

Praise You for laments and losses. Lest I love my life my self and my trash too much. Pastor spoke on Psalms 90-91 Sunday, and I remembered that morning You with Irene and I sat only a trimester ago, marveling at the way the light bounced off the icicles outside. We rested by these same words. You have a funny way of digging up skeletons. Maybe I will learn this time around.

Making You my Home. Not a cop-out, retreat, escape -- at least, not the way I've made it my last resort. Entering Your wing is active, forward trust. Entrust. My life and heart are Yours. I was made for You.

So I can ask You God to relent and deliver, and You might even deem the prayer good and acceptable... But is this enough? Even those without the help of Your Spirit can cry to be delivered from their trials. So instead I ask for this (God! take these trembling hands before I shrink from Your touch again, hear my shaky words before I try to swallow them back): let my affections be purified in this furnace. Grant me a teachable heart, to learn sooner rather than... not soon. To abandon this life and all its temporary glories and causes, to find in You full and satisfying all in all in all... A stilled and swaddled: child in her Father's arms. I knew no such picture in this life it must be You.

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Let me make it plain: I believe like a child that suffering will be healed and made up for, that all the humiliating absurdity of human contradictions will vanish like a pitiful mirage... that in the world’s finale, at the moment of eternal harmony, something so precious will come to pass that it will suffice for all hearts, for the comforting of all resentments, for the atonement of all the crimes of humanity, of all the blood they’ve shed; that it will make it not only possible to forgive but to justify all that has happened with men.

// Vanya Fyodorovich

I have come to believe that by and large the human family all has the same secrets. They tell what is perhaps the central paradox of our condition, that what we hunger for perhaps more than anything else is to be known in our full humanness.

a slave set free by Love nailed down. an orphan adopted by the High King. learning to let life well up from being all her, in faith. this blog contains some of the mileposts and verbal vomit along the way––streams of semiconsciousnesss––notes filed away from patient teachers and traveling friends.

God must be on my side! an innocent Stranger died me to life, calls me friend. they say love never changes, but they must have lied because Love changed my direction and gave me life when He scribbled in the sand and did not condemn––no He saves me, raises me, poverty to plenty, heals me, clothes me, rags to righteous. He tethers me even as i wander seeking a homeland... finding that it has found me.